When dingbats make
rabbit noises, they
are definitely not in
heat. At its zenith
this tundra was a
gambling metropolis.
Then one warmish
day, it got all
gussied up, shuttered
all of its windows,
and each dingy citizen,
lugging their worn leather
briefcases (mostly brown)
around their stiff necks like
beefed up costume jewelry,
bunched up, tripping over
each other like a herd of
starving antelope,
and in one fell swoop,
took off for Atlantic City
and never returned.
